Unwanted
by awesome writer in training
Summary: Fourteen year old Elva doesn't know who her real parents are, has a foster parent that has a drinking problem, and a handful of friends that are even more twisted than her.However her whole life changes when she and her best friend Helen, meet baby Cakes.
1. Is Somebody Stalking Me?

My alarm clock suddenly decided it didn't like me and started screaming causing me to sit up in alarm, stifling the urge to scream.

I'd had the same dream again.

I'm running, running till I could hear my feet pounding on the wet dirt. My breath ragged as I desperately tried to fill my lungs with air. My lung ached, I could barely breath, but I didn't care. As long as I put enough space between that, that, that thing and me, I was fine. I heard an unearthly growl from behind me as the earth shook from the running of the beast. Fear surged through me as I sprinted forward. Dodging trees and gnarled up roots. My lungs ached for air, I gasped and gulped but my vision was getting blurry. A branch snagged on my face, I felt warm red blood ooze from my scratch. _Gotta get away,_ I thought_ need to find a clearing_. My lungs were screaming for air, my heart was hammering, my legs pounding against the soft earth. The growling was even closer now. Suddenly I burst into a clearing no, not a clearing, a cliff. My heart sunk, _no way out_ I thought, and so close to freedom I could almost taste it. Only to have my hopes dashed.

A big black mass of fur appeared from the trees and jumped at me.

"_No!"_ I screamed as I put my arms around my self in self-defense.

Darkness engulfed me, but sooner or later, I always wake up. In my own bed, sweating like a sinner in church, perfectly fine.

Yet still I always have to comfort myself, _it was just a dream. You're fine nothing happened to you._ I've had this dream ever since I was five, I'm fourteen now, and yet I still have no idea what the heck it means.

I groan and stagger towards the window across from my bed. The sun is peeking from the horizon, sending splashes of yellow, orange, red, purple and blue, dawn. I woke up with the sun, again. Which means that I got about four hours of sleep. Unlike any other fourteen year old, I fall asleep really late, and wake up really, really early. Not regretfully again, like most teenagers. Waking up early makes me feel energized and zaps my sleepy brain. It's basically like drinking about five gallons of red bull, only better.

I stagger towards my mirror.

My room, reminds me of the forest, in a good way. My bed has green sheets, with little plants embroidered with a silver thread; it always smells earthy, like it just rained. My dresser is made out of black oak with a mirror attached to it. I have a whole shelf of my adventure books, drawings of animals and used sketchbooks. My desk is full of scattered papers, pencils, and my Mac. Sure it was messy, but in an organized way, like a forest.

I take one look at myself in the mirror and groaned inwardly so I don't wake the other people in this apartment building.

With long, curly black ringlets, I'd say it's almost impossible to keep it in some kind of semi-organized ponytail. I never leave my hair down; it makes me feel all twitchy and girly, so, I don't know, _vulnerable._ But I brushed it, while shedding about twenty million tears and cursing like a sailor that drank way to much ale.

I rubbed the sleep out of my purple eyes and yawned. And no dear readers, I don't wear contacts, I was born with it. I get picked on because my eyes are more of a purple than a brown. It's kind of a sensitive topic.

I got dressed as quickly as I could, putting on "a homework kills trees" t-shirt and some jeans and walked downstairs.

I saw a guy in the kitchen cooking eggs. He had short dull brown hair and lazy brown eyes, but to add on to that he had abnormally pale skin that made him look… well, dead.

"Hello Elva," he said tonelessly without even looking up from the eggs. Great, so now his foster kid is even less than eggs to him.

Yes, in case you haven't noticed, Mark, a.k.a. the man that cooks eggs and drinks all day, is my foster parent. Mark adopted me when I was ten, probably so he could get child support money and waste it on beer and cigarettes. He is a dead beat that could care less about me or any thing else in our apartment that always had a stench of cigarettes.

So I'm the one that has to cook (unless he happens to be sober) clean, and go shopping for food or furniture that he happened to break on one of his "episodes"

Sometimes, he comes home drunk, angry at no one, he decides to take it out on me. I have bruises to prove it.

I hate him.

Mark dumped a plate of eggs in front of me as I sat at the cigarette burned table. Without another word, he left and went upstairs.

I sighed and ate my eggs in silence, no one to talk to about what its like to be at home alone all day. Only my best friends knew what happened at home, and they were just a handful of people.

I silently picked up my backpack and flew out the door. As I was walking to the bus stop, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I shivered and turned around, but saw nothing. Still, I felt like someone was following me.


	2. My Best Friend, Nervous? Nah

Do you know all those movies, where the new kid in town, is going to school for the very first time? Well it´s his first day of school, and to go to school he has to get on the bus, but he´s scared. His mom comforts him and says `sweetie, you`ll do fine`, so he´s reassured by his mom´s words and goes on the bus. On the bus, all the kids stare at him, and some even throw paper airplanes at him, no one lets him sit next to them except for one guy. He lets the new kid sit next to him, and they become best friends, facing the world _together_. One bus at a time.

I know, gross right?

Those people, who created that cheesy movie, made it so they can hide the actual truth from all of you.

This is what atually happens when you get on the bus, or rather, when _I_ get on the bus.

As I walked down the aisle, all the people completely _ignored me_. That´s it, that´s all they did. I looked around for a seat, but all the kids had cleverly used their stuff to make it look like there was no space at all. So I walked down the aisle and prayed I´d find an empty seat.

As I looked around, I saw a dark haired arabian girl waving at me. She had on a black skull t-shirt with a black silver buttoned vest on top of it, a black denim skirt, and some black converse. She was my best friend Helen.

"hey," I said as I slid down next to her. She nodded in response, and started fiddling with her black leather bracelet, what she does when she´s nervous.

Helen rarely talks and rarely shows emotions, though her eyes always portray sadness no matter what she´s doing. She only talks to her friends, which just happens to be only me, she rarely talks to other people. So you can imagine the tight situation we´re in.

I remember how I met Helen. She was being bullied by some preppy girls, they were teasing her about how emo she looked, considering she wore black clothes and black eyeliner didn´t help much. I was just happening to walk by in the hallway, when i saw this, so i stopped to see what was going to happen, considering emo people at my school mess people up if someone picks on them. But not helen, nooo, she just walked by comepletely ignoring the comments that they were making. Though I could see that her back was stiff and her fingers were white from holding her books too tight.

Then one of the girls shoved her books out of her hands, sending them sprawling across the hall. All the people were suddenly silent as they saw helen look up from the floor, to stare at the girl in the eye, her name was krissie. Everyone in the hall was silent, waiting to see what helen would do to her.

"What are you going to do?" Krissie hissed tauntigly.

Helen stared at her, turned around, and started walking away. Krissie stood their fuming, expecting helen to do something, wanting helen to do something, so she could have a reason to do something to her. I guess the best thing helen could have done was walk away, I remember krissie was so, so angry Krissie opened her mouth and closed it, clearly surprised, then walked over to helen and pushed her so she fell on the floor. When helen didn´t do anything, i interfered of course, but both of us had still gotten in trouble, of course krissie didn´t though i had no idea how she got away with everything.

So now i´m helen´s bodygaurd, which is the ultimate threat considering i´ve been taking karate since second grade.

"Elva?¨ Helen asked, trying to get my attention, snapping me out of my trance.

"Huh, sorry what?" I asked staring into her night eyes, and for the first time, i saw fear. I mean, helen isn´t the type of person to go around screaming with her hands in the air: _" Oh my gosh I´m so scared and the world hates me! All this pressure is gonna make me burst into tears!". _Basically, what

I´m trying to say is that Helen is never scared, she´s reliable like that. She never sounded nervous either, her voice was always quiet, calm, and so, so soothing.

Though right now, Helen´s voice wasn´t soothing, in fact, anything other than that. Her voice sounded nervous, and even though she only said one word, it looked like she had a difficult time saying my name.

"You know that camp that I´m always talking about?" She asked, nercously fiddling with her bracelet. Her accent coming thick in my ears, because her first language was arabic, not english. Her heratige only gave people more of a reason to pick on her, considering everyone thought she was going to bomb our school or something.

I nodded. Evey summer, Helen went to this camp where most of her friends were; I´m the only one out of camp that´s her friend. She talked so much about it, but at the same time she didn´t. She never told me what kind of camp it´s for, and what they did their. When I started to ask about stuff like that, she would return back to her silent self, staring anywhere but at me. During those times I realized that I didn´t know a lot of stuff about my best friend, it kind of made me feel lonely.

"Well you see, the thing is," ´Helen whispered nervously, fumbling on with her bracelet, "You´re a-".

What ever she was about to say was cut off as the bus lerched forward and the kids around us started to stand up, picking up their things. Helen stared at me longingly, like the thing she was about to tell me was life or death.

I scooped up my backpack and stood up, Helen slowly following my example. We walked off the bus with the rest of the stamped of students.

"Don´t worry about it Helen," I told her reassuringly as we walked to our lockers, my voice sounding sincere," You can tell me what you were gonna say later, I mean, it´s not like I could die or anything".

Helen nodded half-heartedly, and murmered something that sounded like a maybe. The way she just did the actions with no feeling watsoever, creeped me out. Helen always used more emotion in hand gestures and body language.

I pondered this as I went to my home room class through the hall with all my morning books. It was as if Helen didn´t believe me, as if Helen didn´t believe the last statement I told her was true.


End file.
